


A Small Blue Thing

by virgo79



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angus McDonough deserves to die on fire, Blood and Injury, Canonical Child Abuse, Don E. has an unrequited thing for Blaine and expresses it poorly, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Peyton Charles is a queen, Ravi/Liv and Clive/Dale are mainly in the background, but they're there, my version of medical treatment is as sound as the show's, speculative for iZombie season 4, take that for what it's worth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgo79/pseuds/virgo79
Summary: The gang rescues Blaine from Angus. Peyton helps him recover. There are multiple demons to be dealt with. (I am a whore for H/C and Bleyton.)Title from "Small Blue Thing" by Suzanne Vega





	1. Triage

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because I adore Peyton Charles & Blaine DeBeers, both separately and together, and, as previously mentioned, am a H/C whore. 
> 
> Thank you to SFDoll for being my test driver on this one. You rock. Embrace the hive mind and bring on the playlist.

Peyton stares at her silent phone on the bar in front of her, thumbnail caught between her teeth. Her whole body wants to move, pace, rock, something, but Don E. is drumming anxiously on his side of the bar and she refuses to do anything he might take as a response to his twitching, a sign he’s getting under her skin. Even if she would like to tell him to shut the hell up.

He’s not happy she’s here. She doesn’t know what she’s done to draw Don Eberhardt’s ire (though she has a suspicion), and she doesn’t particularly care, but if he shoots one more resentful, bratty, beady-eyed look her way, she might hit him in the face with a chair, and that isn’t going to help the situation.

So she worries her thumbnail, and stares at her phone.

Three hours. That had been Major’s high-end estimate. And that had allowed for Blaine being unable to walk out of Angus’s stronghold on his own power. “We need to plan for the worst,” he’d said, soldier-steady, and his stoicism had pissed her off, but when his eyes flicked to her they’d been sympathetic.

Liv had tucked her pale hair up under a black knit cap and reached out to grip Peyton’s arms, hands small and strong. “We’ll get him back,” she’d said, quietly, and Peyton had nodded without speaking, because she didn’t know what to say.

Three hours had been the upper limit. Three hours for the version of the plan that assumed they’d have to get out carrying Blaine.

It’s been three and a half.

She wants a drink, but thinks she might puke if she puts anything in her stomach right now.

“God, what is taking so loooong,” Don E. bursts out, and she jumps.

“Jesus Christ, Don E.,” she snaps, and then regrets it.

Don’s scared, too. Scared, and something else. He’d stumbled over the part of the story where he’d been the one to take Angus off ice. Part of Peyton wants to blame Don and his spite ( _and his jealousy?_ ) for this, but he’s already blaming himself, and she’s the last person who’s going to add weight to a load somebody’s already shouldered.

“They’ll be here,” she says, flexing cramped fingers. “Major knows what he’s doing. And Liv’s unstoppable when she’s set on something.”

“Dino’ll have their backs. He’s a tank,” Don E. tags on, and they meet each other’s eyes for a moment, both painfully aware of what they’re doing.

Peyton keeps her reservations about Dino to herself. She doesn’t know him, doesn’t trust him, doesn’t have the faith that Don E. does in the man who almost killed Blaine on the orders of the man who’s holding him now. But Dino had volunteered. Dino had met her eyes as he’d tucked a small arsenal into his black coat and nodded, just once.

Ravi had flung a duffel bag full of medical supplies over his shoulder and paused in front of her, a strange look of resolve on his face. “He’ll be all right,” he’d said, finally, and it probably should have sounded empty, but it didn’t. Not from Ravi.

“Thank you,” she’d said. And then they’d gone, and Peyton and Don E. had been left with each other for company in an empty Scratching Post, three hours and thirty-seven minutes ago.

Unbidden, Angus McDonaugh’s face fills her mind, and Peyton’s insides twist with something black and seething and venomous. _I am going to end you, you pig. You evil fucking pig. Wait and see if I don’t._

In her mind’s eye, Angus’s sneer becomes a scream, and if she had any fear left to spare for it, she would probably be afraid of herself for the rush of satisfaction that fills her. Then her phone buzzes to life with a text, and she almost falls off her stool lunging for it. Don E. is across from her in a flash.

It’s Liv. _Fifteen minutes away. Make sure one of the big tables is clear._

“Are they out? Do they have him?” Don E. asks frantically.

Peyton’s stomach and lungs feel like they’re colliding. “They have him,” she says, triumphant and terrified. “It’s bad.”

***

Major’s SUV comes to a hard, neat stop five feet from the entrance. He leaps out of the driver’s seat and races to where the back hatch swings up, Dino joining him from the passenger side. Liv scrambles out of the back and steps aside to let Dino lean in. “Should you both take him?” she asks, and Peyton hears Dino reply but can’t tell what he says. From inside the vehicle she hears Ravi’s voice ring out sternly, “Easy, Dino. Watch his ribs.”

Quelling the urge to rush over and shove Dino out of the way is one of the hardest things Peyton’s ever done, and when the big man lifts a limp, blanket-shrouded form out of the truck, she has to press the back of her hand to her mouth. Ravi slides out afterwards, unfolding his long legs and keeping hands braced beneath Blaine’s head and back as Dino shifts him carefully. Major climbs in the back and pulls out Ravi’s open med bag, tossing a few loose items in then zipping it shut and passing it to Liv. “I’m gonna get the truck out of sight. I’ll be right in.”

“Got him?” Ravi asks Dino.

“Got him.”

“Go.”

“Is there a table ready?” Liv asks, slipping her arm through Peyton’s as they follow Dino and Ravi at a jog.

“Yes. Liv, what did Angus do?”

Liv looks stricken, and opens her mouth without speaking. Then they’re back in the club and Don E. is slamming the door shut behind them, pushing locks into place. Peyton breaks away from Liv, her longer stride carrying her to where Dino and Ravi are lowering Blaine onto one of the big tables, Ravi’s hands beneath Blaine’s head and neck.

His head lolls towards her as Ravi gently withdraws his hands, and she sees his face clearly for the first time since they arrived.

“Oh, God,” Peyton breathes, reaching out but stopping short of touching. The left side of Blaine’s face is purple from scalp to jaw, his eye lost in the swelling and bruising, and he’s bled from his left ear. There are bruises on his throat and jaw that look like fingers, and Peyton touches her own to them gently.

Ravi and Dino carefully work the blanket loose from around Blaine’s body, and as the soft green microfleece is drawn away, Peyton feels briefly light-headed.

His chest is black with bruising. A meaty, horrible red-black that reaches up towards his shoulder and down towards his waist, that disappears behind his back and mottles his pale stomach. She didn’t even know a body could be that color, and she can’t wrap her head around what could do this amount of damage to a zombie. The shape of his ribs beneath that bruising is wrong, all down his right side, and Peyton flinches when Ravi gently palpates the area. Whatever he feels makes him frown, lips pressing together.

“Liv? We’re going to have to open him up to get these in place. They won’t heal right if we don’t.”

Dino moves aside to let Liv get close. “I think the lung’s injured, too,” she says grimly. “At best it’s bruised, and there’s a good chance it’s lacerated.”

Peyton cups the unmarked side of Blaine’s face in one hand, strokes her thumb over his cheekbone, and sinks down to sit in the booth at his head. “It’s okay, Blaine,” she whispers, kissing the cold shell of his ear. “You’re home. You’re safe. We’re with you.” She stares down the length of his body as Liv uncovers his legs, the skin split over the jagged ends of broken bones. She makes herself look at every mark. “He isn’t going to do it again, sweetheart. Not ever.” Liv’s expression shifts and flickers like light through leaves as she examines him. There’s horror, and fury, and determination, and something else Peyton can’t place.

“Okay,” Liv sighs after a moment. “Let’s take a look at his back.”

Ravi waves Dino over and they roll Blaine towards them, onto his left side, exposing his back to Liv.

Peyton hears herself make a noise, hears Don E. echo it from the other end of the table. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking at.

“Liv, what…?”

Liv reaches over to her and squeezes her shoulder without taking her eyes off Blaine. “Ravi, we need to get this cleaned and covered before we start on his ribs.”

She can’t reconcile what she’s looking at with any injury she’s ever seen. What’s been done to him doesn’t happen to flesh. It happens to paper, to cloth.

The black, roiling thing inside her stretches.

“Don E., we need towels,” Ravi says. “Clean. Lots of them. Liv, there’s antiseptic wash in the bag. A couple of bottles.”

Liv goes for the bag and Don for the towels. “How are you going to clean…that?” Peyton asks tightly.

“Flush it as best we can and get gauze over it. A few layers.” At Peyton’s look, his tone turns softer. “He can’t get an infection, Peyton. We just need to cover it so we can take care of his ribs. If they knit like this we’ll have to re-break them.”

Liv sets the bottles on the table. “I don’t think him healing too fast is on the list of things we need to worry about,” she says, looking pained.

“What’s wrong with him? Why hasn’t any of this healed?” Peyton asks sharply.

“My guess is he hasn’t eaten enough,” Liv replies grimly, her hands skimming over Blaine’s too-prominent collar bones. “Angus had to be feeding him just enough to keep him alive and keep him from going Romero…but not enough for his body to have what it needs to heal.”

Peyton can hear her own blood thrumming in her ears for a moment, and she sees Dino’s eyes flash red and silver. She imagines Angus burning. She imagines him beheaded. She imagines a bullet between his eyes.

She breathes deeply and kisses Blaine’s temple. His skin is clammy and colder than it should be. “What do you need me to do?”

***

Ravi is taping down the first layer of gauze Liv has spread over Blaine’s back when a broken, whimpering moan freezes their hands.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Ravi mutters.

“Keep going,” Liv orders evenly. “Quickly.” The next layer is put in place as gently and swiftly as they can manage.

Blaine makes another weak sound of pain, then one leg tries to push against the table, and he _keens._

“Dammit,” Ravi says through clenched teeth. “Major, hold his legs!”

“No!” Peyton’s tone stops Major mid-motion. “He’ll fight you, Major, and he’ll hurt himself. Blaine, stop,” she says, more quietly, wrapping an arm around him. “You need to lie still. Lie still, sweetheart.”

The body in her arms breathes raggedly, and she isn’t sure, but she thinks he’s listening to her.

“Can you hear me?” She smooths the hair at the back of his head. “I know you hurt, Blaine. I know you hurt right now but you need to stay still. You need to let Liv and Ravi help you.”

“Please stop…” Thin and hoarse and slurred as it is, the plea stills the room. Ravi closes his eyes, and Liv looks away, pulling in a sharp breath.

“Okay,” Peyton says, hushed and calm. “They’re stopping.” She meets Ravi’s eyes, holds them until he nods, conceding. “They won’t do anything else until you’re ready. Just lie still and try to relax. Nobody here wants to hurt you.” She strokes the back of his neck, one of the only unmarked places on him. “We need to get you fixed up, but we can take it slow. Just calm down and lie still.”

Blaine is quiet, his rapid breathing slowing slightly. He doesn’t even try to look at her. “Peyton?”

“Yeah.” She lets a smile soak into the word. “Liv, can he have the blanket back, just over his legs?”

“Of course.” Liv retrieves it and spreads it over Blaine’s battered legs.

“There, that should feel a little better,” Peyton murmurs. It won’t do much against his chills, just like her fingers against his scalp won’t do anything for the concussion Ravi suspects he has, but that’s not the point. She can’t do a thing for his pain but make sure he knows he isn’t enduring it alone, and that there’s no one here who wants to make it worse. At the moment she thinks he needs that more than anything else.

Blaine fumbles for the arm she has wrapped around him, and the hand he grabs it with has next to no strength in it. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Just be still.”

“Angus…” The despair in that one word makes her eyes burn. Peyton lowers her head to touch her forehead to Blaine’s.

“He’s never going to touch you again, Blaine. He’s never going to come near you again. I’ll kill him myself first.”

Blaine is quiet beneath her, his breath labored, then softening. She feels him stroke his thumb over her wrist. A moment later, the fearful tension in him uncoils.

She presses a kiss to the soft skin behind his ear, nuzzling there. “Is it okay if Liv and Ravi finish with the bandages?”

Blaine swallows hard, then replies in a whisper that has no chance of carrying past her and doesn’t need to. “Yes.”

She looks up, feeling a tear snake down her cheek, and nods at Liv and Ravi, who’ve stepped clear of their makeshift operating table and are in each other’s arms, Ravi’s chin on top of Liv’s head. “He’s ready.”

***

Peyton loses track of time. Blaine’s ribs and legs are set. He’s aware for part of it, but not for long. She leaves his side just once, when she bolts into the restroom after it’s all done to dry heave over the sink while his lucid moments play on a loop in her head. Their brevity is not much of a consolation.

Her hands are braced against the cool marble of the counter, her eyes closed, when she hears the door open, feels Liv slide up beside her and wrap her arms around Peyton’s waist, wordlessly. She turns into the hug and sobs.

“The worst part’s over, Pey,” Liv tells her after a long silence. “I know it was bad, but he can mend now. You did great.”

“I did fuck all.”

“That’s not true.” Liv holds her by the shoulders and pushes back to look into her face. “You were fearless for him. You kept him calm. Grounded. He knew he was safe with you. We couldn’t have taken care of him if you hadn’t been there. I mean that, Peyton. Without you…this could have been ugly.”

She can’t imagine what ugly would look like, if this wasn’t it. But she lets Liv pull her in tightly again.

“Now what?” she asks, as they draw back from each other. “We shouldn’t stay here. If Angus comes looking for him…”

“Clive’s on it. He’s going to get us a safe place to take him. As soon as we hear from him we’ll go.”

“Can we move him that soon?”

Liv nods. “It’s…not ideal, but he’ll be okay. We really need to get him to eat something first, though.” Her face darkens at that.

“That son of a bitch.” Peyton closes her eyes, shakes her head. “Liv, I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly.” Her face in the mirror is flushed and strange. “If you put Angus in front of me right now I think I’d kill him. Without a second thought.”

“I understand,” Liv says, touching the small of Peyton’s back. “Just try to focus on having Blaine back. On him getting better.”

“Promise me Angus won’t walk away from this,” she demands, turning sharply to face Liv.

Briefly taken aback, Liv frowns, nods her head. “Of course, Pey. He isn’t going to--”

“No matter what we have to do to,” Peyton cuts her off, silencing the “get away with it” she knows is on the tip of Liv’s tongue, because she needs Liv to understand. “No matter what. I don’t care what it means, I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care what we have to do to him.”

“Peyton--”

“ _Promise_ me, Liv.”

She’s afraid, for a minute, that Liv is going to tell her she’s just upset, that Peyton doesn’t mean any of this, that they have to go about this the right way. She’s afraid of seeing something in her best friend’s eyes or hearing something in her voice that looks like _“You’re better than this,”_ that sounds like _“he isn’t worth that,”_ because she’s not, and he is, and she needs Liv to love her enough to accept all of that.

Liv’s hands are cool around Peyton’s when she takes hold of them. “I promise.”

***

She sits back down in the booth at Blaine’s head with a clean towel and a glass of warm water, and begins washing the blood from his ear and jaw. “You’d be furious if you knew what a mess your hair is,” she murmurs, kissing his forehead. “We’ll take care of that later.”

Peyton washes Blaine’s face and neck, letting the repetition and the feel of his skin under her fingers soothe her. She feels the little movement of his head between her hands when he starts to rouse, and runs the towel down his cheek, following it with a brush of her knuckles. “You’re all right. You’re with me now,” she says softly, aware he might need reminding. His uninjured eye opens, glassy and unfocused, and she stands up and moves into his line of sight when he tries to turn his head to find her. “Right here,” she says, unsure if he can even see that well. He blinks, sluggishly, and pulls a hand clumsily from beneath the blanket to reach for her. Peyton catches it and presses her lips to the backs of his fingers, then holds his palm to her cheek. “Hi, handsome.”

“Thought I dreamed you…” It comes out in an exhausted breath.

She remembers another time looking down on him while he slept, another waking, another mention of dreams, and her throat aches. This time is both better and worse. “I’m real,” she assures him.

“Good,” he sighs, eye slipping closed. “That’s good.”

“Hey, stay with me a little longer,” Peyton says, rubbing his arm briskly. “You need to eat something.”

The reaction is not what she’s expecting. Blaine snaps awake violently and starts to pull away from her. “No,” he chokes out.

“Okay,” she says, frowning. “It’s all right; if you don’t feel well, it can wait.” She smooths his hair back. “Is it your stomach? Ravi thinks you have a concussion.”

He shakes his head, a careful, barely-there movement.

“Your jaw? We could make you…”

He shakes his head again, and Peyton’s frown deepens. “Please, Peyton, no.”

“Okay, shhhh,” she soothes, bewildered and worried anew. “Don’t upset yourself. You can eat later.” She tucks his arm back under the blanket and keeps her hand in his hair, stroking circles into his scalp with her fingertips until he settles. “Just rest right now. We’re gonna take you somewhere more comfortable soon.”

“Stay…”

“I am. I’m not going anywhere, Blaine. I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise.”

She waits until he seems to be drifting again to step quietly over to where Liv, Ravi, and Major are gathered, speaking quietly. “What’s wrong?” Liv asks as Peyton approaches, reading the worry on her face.

“He doesn’t want to eat,” she says. “And it’s not just that he doesn’t feel up to it; he almost panicked when I asked him to.”

Ravi frowns. “Why wouldn’t he want to eat?”

She drags her hand through her own hair in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“I might.” Major’s tone is grave, and he looks disturbed. “When I did my recon I saw bodies – human bodies – near where Angus was holding him. From the look of them…they didn’t die fast. And their brains had been taken.” Major looks over to where Blaine is lying. “If they’re what Angus was feeding Blaine…”

“Christ,” Peyton hears Ravi mutter as she turns to look at Blaine in horror.

“Everything they felt,” Liv breathes. “All of their pain and their fear…”

Peyton’s vision blurs.

“It’s not food he doesn’t want,” Major says softly. “It’s visions.”

“Filmore-Graves brains,” Ravi says abruptly. “If the visions are the problem, he might take those. Major, you’ve got some at the house.”

“I’ve got some in a cooler in the truck,” Major replies, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. “Peyton, do you think…?”

She forces her hands to unclench, nails biting into her palms, and nods. “Let’s try. He needs to eat.”

Major stops at the bar to fill Don E. and Dino in. As Peyton returns to her seat by Blaine in the booth, Don E. makes his way over. “Peyton, we have brains here. We can find him something better than that crap the jackboots eat.”

She adjusts the blanket, tucking it more snugly around Blaine’s shoulders. “I don’t think he’ll eat anything that’s going to give him visions right now, Don. Major thinks Angus was feeding him the brains of people Angus tortured to death.”

Don swallows, and the gaze he drops to Blaine reminds Peyton of the dogs in the ASPCA commercials. “That’s…I never thought Angus would…I mean I knew they hated each other but…”

“Did you know about any of it?” Peyton asks suddenly, cutting him off. “What Angus did to him when he was younger?” Don looks cornered, and Peyton realizes how sharp her tone is, like she’s accusing him. She isn’t. Or she doesn’t think she is. “Did he ever tell you anything?” she clarifies, attempting to soften the question.

“Just that the old man used to knock him around a lot and his housekeeper was a real witch. He didn’t, like, give me a lot of details. I think it got worse after his mom died.”

Peyton lays a hand on Blaine’s stomach, moving it in gentle circles, unsurprised. _When did you stop bothering to tell anyone at all? How old were you when you ended up alone against him?_ She leans over to kiss the corner of his lips. “You’re not alone anymore,” she whispers. Blaine makes a faint noise in response, his head rolling towards her, and she kisses him again, as lightly as she can, just the softest brush of her lips over his.

***

Major returns, tubes in hand, moments before Liv’s phone rings. “It’s Clive,” she announces, answering and stepping away.

Some of the knots in Peyton’s chest loosen; she’s anxious to get Blaine out of here, for his comfort and for all of their safety. She doesn’t know when Angus will find out Blaine is gone, or if he’ll bother coming after him once he does, but she wants to be well clear of the Scratching Post before either happens.

Major passes one of the tubes to her. “I think you’ll have better luck than me convincing him to eat.”

Peyton sighs. “Here’s hoping. Can you help me sit him up?”

Before Major can answer, Don E.’s there. “I’ve got it,” he says, a stubborn set to his jaw. Major dips his head in acquiescence, exchanging a look with Peyton as he steps back.

“Blaine,” Peyton says gently but clearly, rubbing knuckles over his cheek. “Blaine, wake up for me.”

A frown creases his brow, but there’s no other reaction.

“Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Just for a little while.”

His face tightens in pain as he stirs, and Peyton’s heart hurts in turn. “I know; I’m sorry. But I need you to wake up.”

It takes longer than she’d like, but finally Blaine wakes, fighting to focus on her. “Don E. and I are going to help you sit up, and I want you to eat a little something.” He starts to protest, and she holds the long, slim packet where he can see it. “Filmore-Graves brains,” she says, before he can work himself up. “No visions, Blaine. No one else in your head.”

Blaine sucks in a sharp breath. “How…how did you…”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” She tears the end open and nods at Don E. “Gently,” she cautions. Don E. works an arm under Blaine’s shoulders, and she puts a hand beneath his neck. She can see how careful Don’s being, but Blaine still clenches his teeth on a cry.

“Easy, man,” Don E. soothes, “I gotcha.” 

He lifts Blaine completely vertical and braces an arm across his upper chest and shoulders, letting Blaine slump forward just enough to get the pressure off his back. Peyton moves the hand behind his neck to wrap around and hold his forehead, tipping his face up enough for him to eat. “Relax,” she instructs, close against his side. “Relax your whole body. You don’t need to hold yourself up; we’ve got you.” She feels his weight settle more heavily on them as he obeys, exhausted and limp, and she brings the tube to his mouth. “Slowly, Blaine. Very slowly.” The last thing he needs is to make himself vomit with broken ribs and a mutilated back.

He struggles with the first bite, visibly forcing himself to swallow, and she holds her breath, terrified for a moment that it won’t stay down. But Blaine only breathes hard for a few seconds, collapsed against their combined hold, then manages one hoarse word: “More…”

Peyton’s breath rushes out of her in relief. “Here you go. Slowly.”

It’s a painstakingly slow process – give him the smallest of bites, coax him through getting it down, wait to see if it stays there, wait for him to nod or ask for more, repeat – but they get him to eat more than half before he refuses any more.

“Good, sweetheart, that’s good,” Peyton praises, setting the rest aside. “You needed that.”

“Better?” Don E. asks knowingly, and Blaine gives a slight nod, making the smaller man grin. “Yeah, thought so.”

“How’s it going over here?” Major asks, approaching slowly.

“Better than I hoped,” Peyton replies, still bracing Blaine’s head. She looks up. “Thank you, Major. For everything.”

Something like surprise lights up his face, just a bit. They haven’t been the same since the wall went up around Seattle, since he chose to go back to the people who deliberately infected almost half the city with a virus for their own gain. She hasn’t been able to see the same friend she’s known all these years in him.

But she supposes, as she cradles the man who once stabbed him to death, that Major could say the same about her. None of them could have seen any of this playing out as it has. But here they all are.

He smiles. “Anytime.”

Liv joins them then, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?”

Peyton shifts so that Blaine can lay his head on her shoulder, Don E. steadying him from the other side. “He ate. That’s something.”

Liv nods, hazel eyes sliding down to the man in Peyton’s arms, her face unreadable. “That’s good. I just got word from Clive – we’ve got a safe house. It’s time to go.”

***

Moving Blaine is considerably more difficult now that he’s awake.

He tries so hard not to make a sound while it’s happening. Peyton doesn’t know if that’s for her benefit, if it’s because he’s regained enough awareness to care about showing weakness in front of some of the people around him, or if it’s the remnants of some act of defiance against Angus, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing Blaine’s agony. He tries, but raggedly broken bones and mutilated flesh aren’t exactly conducive to stoic silence, and by the time they settle him into the back of the SUV and Peyton’s waiting hold, he’s gasping through clenched teeth, a sick sheen of cold sweat on his skin.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, not even daring to rock him. “It’s all gonna be okay. It’ll be over soon.”

He turns his face into the side of her neck in response, his breath huffing rapidly across her skin.

“Hey, listen to me, okay? Focus on me.” She tightens the arms wrapped around him, ever so slightly, just for a moment. “Feel my arms around you? Focus on that. Can you do that?”

A soft little sob escapes him.

“Shhhhh, I’ve got you. Just try to rest. Focus on being right here with me.”

Don E. hovers just beyond the tailgate, watching Blaine worriedly as Major climbs into the driver’s seat and Liv takes the hand Ravi offers her to climb into the back. “Text me,” he says. “When you’re there. Just…let me know you made it.”

“We will,” Liv replies.

Don E.’s despondency parts its clouds long enough for him to perk up with inspiration. “We need a code phrase!”

“Do we, though?” Ravi counters, head tilted.

“In case Angus intercepts the message,” Don E. elaborates. Ravi opens his mouth, but closes it when Liv shoots him a look.

“What would you like the code phrase to be, Don E.?” she prompts.

“Ohhhhh, man. I don’t know! If it’s too weird it’ll look suspicious, but if it’s not weird enough I might not know what you’re talking ab--”

“How about ‘Tom Cruise does his own stunts’?” Liv offers.

Don E. blinks at her, then smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, that works.”

Liv nods. “Okay then. We’ll text you when we get there.”

“Thanks, Liv.”

Ravi closes the back of the truck. Peyton sees him clap Don E. on the shoulder once, then turn and say something to Dino before rounding the vehicle and joining Major in the front seat.

Blaine shivers, and Peyton adjusts the blanket with one hand. “Guys, can we get a little heat back here?” she requests. Major complies, and Liv reaches over to touch Blaine’s forehead as if checking for fever.

“He’s too cold,” she reports. “Eating will help that, but it’ll take a few meals.” She presses her fingers to his neck. “Pulse is a little rapid, too.”

“He’s in pain.”

“I know, Pey. It should take us about twenty minutes to get there, then we can make him more comfortable. It won’t be long now.”

Peyton nods, then offers Liv a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Liv.”

Liv shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that. This was…whatever happened before…we couldn’t leave him there. Not knowing everything we know.”

Peyton takes a deep breath, refusing to dwell too long on that knowledge. Thinking of what Angus McDonough has gotten away with all these years makes her want to scream and cry and kill, and none of that is what Blaine needs. She takes her own advice and concentrates on the weight of Blaine in her arms, the movement of the vehicle taking them closer to Clive’s safe house every minute, the slow-building warmth in the truck. Ten minutes or so into the drive, rain begins to drum on the hood and windows, and the view of the city turns to rivulets of light. Major turns the wipers on, and their rhythmic sound takes the edge off her nerves. Blaine makes a small noise, and she feels some of the tension bleed out of him, though if it’s because he’s warming up or because he’s exhausted, she doesn’t know.

She kisses his forehead, and watches the night go by beyond rain-streaked windows.

***

The drive where Clive’s car is waiting for them disappears into a thick line of trees, and Peyton can’t see the house it leads to as Major pulls up beside the other vehicle, though she catches sight of a light here and there through the branches. “We’re here,” she tells Blaine quietly, as they follow Clive away from the road.

“Where…?”

“Somewhere safe. We’re gonna get you inside and into bed, and then you can sleep as long as you need to, okay?”

“Mmmm,” he sighs, shifting uncomfortably and tightening his hold on her arms across his chest. “Hurts…”

“I know it does, baby. I’m sorry.” She nuzzles his disheveled hair. “You’re being so strong.”

She hears him suck in a sharp breath, and she thinks for a moment he’s on the verge of tears, but then he goes silent, and it’s too dark for her to see his face.

The drive slopes downward towards the house, which reveals itself to be a brick structure considerably bigger than anything Peyton had in mind. The lot, as far as she can tell, is wooded in every direction, though how densely is hard to judge in the dark. Major pulls up near a side entrance, where Clive has come to a stop, and then there’s a flurry of activity. The dark, warm interior of the truck is suddenly bright and cold, and Blaine makes a pained sound when the cargo lights come on, twisting his face away. Peyton lays her hand over his shut eyes and hushes him.

“We need to do this really gently, guys,” Liv cautions, still perched where she’s been holding Blaine’s broken legs still for most of the ride. “Pey, can you lay him down flat?”

“Yeah.” She eases out from behind him and lowers him as carefully as she can, arms aching and pins and needles spreading in her legs. Blaine clenches his teeth as his back comes to rest on the floor, and she lingers long enough to smooth his hair back. “I’ll be right beside you,” she assures him, before following Liv out of the back and moving aside to give Major and Ravi room.

They’re gentle, and they’re swift, and Dale is waiting inside to lead them straight to the nearest bedroom, but the nearest bedroom is still upstairs, and Blaine’s face is grey and damp with sweat when they finally lay him down on the clean sheets. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s over now,” Peyton soothes as she and Ravi loosen the blanket he’s been bundled in most of the night and toss it aside. She reaches for the turned-down covers, but Ravi halts her.

“I want to check his back first, make sure we don’t need to change any bandages after all that,” he explains, but as soon as it’s out of his mouth, Blaine nearly sobs in protest.

“Ravi, enough. He’s had enough,” Peyton says, in a tone that doesn’t invite debate. She draws the covers up over Blaine’s prone body and perches on the edge of the bed, laying the backs of her fingers against his forehead, then his cheek; he’s still chilled, but less so than before. “You said it yourself; he isn’t going to get an infection. Everything else can wait. Right now he just needs quiet and rest.”

Ravi looks momentarily shaken by Blaine’s reaction, but then he nods, stepping back. “Yeah. We’ll see how he’s healing tomorrow.”

Peyton takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Liv steps up beside Ravi and takes his hand between both of hers. “He’ll be calmer after he gets some rest. We all will.”

“Is there anything we can give him for the pain?” Peyton asks.

“As long as the concussion’s healing, we should be able to give him something tomorrow,” Ravi says. “After he eats again, ideally. I don’t want to risk thinning his blood too much with a brain injury, and it’ll take a big dose for him to feel the effects.”

“Zombie metabolism,” Liv chimes in. “It sucks, and it might be overly cautious, all things considered, but the last thing we want to do is set him back. Best to be careful.” Her eyes drop to Blaine’s face, and she looks stricken. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long night.”

“We’ll get through it,” Peyton says, resolved. “Blaine?” She leans close to him, strokes the hair at his temple until he meets her eyes. “Would you rather lie flat or have some pillows behind you? We can help you sit up a little if it would feel better.”

He swallows hard. “Up…please…”

She doesn’t like the tone of his voice. It sounds too much like begging to her ear, and it tears something open inside of her. “Okay. Can you put your arms around me for a minute?”

He does, and she works hers beneath him. “Liv?”

“Got it.” Liv braces his head and shoulders, and they lift him to sag forward into Peyton’s embrace. Liv quickly rearranges the small mountain of pillows on the bed, and they settle Blaine back against them.

He shudders, shaky with what Peyton quickly realizes is relief. “Thank you,” he breathes, head already lolling loose on his neck. Peyton adjusts the covers over him, then lays a hand on his stomach, stroking gentle circles through the quilt. When the shudder becomes shivers, though, she frowns.

“Do you need another blanket?”

“M’okay…” Despite the shivering, he’s drifting, not asleep, but not far from it.

Liv steps in and feels his forehead. “His temperature’s better. Still chilled, but better.”

“Is this just from not eating enough?”

“That, and stress. Exhaustion. He’s out of danger now and he’s crashing. He’ll be okay,” Liv assures Peyton. “He needs sleep and food, and he needs to stay warm.” Standing, she looks down at Peyton, concerned.  “You need to sleep too, you know.”

“I will.”

Liv raises an eyebrow knowingly.

“I _will_. I’m just…not ready to take my eyes off him yet.”

Liv presses her lips together, reaching out to tuck Peyton’s hair behind her ear. “Ravi and I are going to be right next door. Clive and Dale are both staying; they’re going to be downstairs for tonight. Major…” She falters; there’s no love lost between Major and Clive these days, and it’s probably for the best the house is so large. “Major’s doing a walkthrough. He’ll be nearby.”

“Got it,” Peyton says. “Lots of help close.”

“Lots of company, too. If you just want someone to sit with you…”

Peyton gives her a small smile. “You guys should get some rest. We’ll be okay. And don’t forget to text Don E.”

“All right.” Liv lets Ravi lead her out of the room, drawing the door almost, but not quite, shut behind her, and then Peyton is alone with Blaine.

Outside, the rain is picking up again, heavy drops drumming harder and harder on the roof and windows. It makes the room feel insulated, somehow, like the world outside is not only distant, but less real.

Peyton shucks her jacket, shoes, and jeans, picks up a soft throw pillow from a chair in the corner, and climbs underneath the covers, leaving the bedside lamp on. She stretches out on her side, facing Blaine, leaving enough space between them that her movement won’t jostle him. Propped up against his pile of pillows, Blaine turns his head towards her without opening his eyes.

“Peyton…” he breathes.

“Right here.” She reaches over, covering his chilled hand with hers. “It’s all over. You’re going to be okay now. Just let yourself sleep.” She watches him, listens to the rain, and feels his fingers slowly warm in hers. Pain passes over his face and then goes, more than once, but he’s quiet and still, limbs loose, and finally sleep pulls him under completely, away from everything that hurts.

Dawn is drenched and grey when it comes, and Peyton falls asleep as its muted, drowsy light creeps into the room.

 

To be continued


	2. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-overdue update! Apologies for the delay -- real life craziness included moving, family medical emergencies, and work insanity, along with some good old-fashioned writer's block. Realized this story wants to be a bit longer than I originally planned, too. Thank you to everyone's who's read, and especially to those who've taken time to leave feedback -- it is much appreciated. Onward.  
> ***

“How’d you sleep?”

Peyton, leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom, turns as Clive comes up behind her, holding out a cup of coffee. She takes it gratefully. “Not great,” she admits. She takes a slow sip and makes an appreciative little noise.

“Was he up in the night?” Clive asks, tilting his head to indicate Blaine.

“No. I thought he might be, but…he’s actually slept pretty soundly. I just couldn’t quiet my mind down.”

“I can imagine,” he says gently.

She flexes her hands, pressing the pads of her fingers hard against the warm porcelain of her mug. “How many times was he hurt when he was a kid? When he didn’t have anybody to get him away from Angus? And why _didn’t_ anybody get him away?” She realizes she’s clenching her jaw – again – and forces herself to relax. She’s already got a tension headache brewing. “His grandfather couldn’t have been the only one who knew.”

Clive is quiet for a long time. “No, he probably wasn’t.”

She stares at the cup in her hands, her vision blurring, and then suddenly she’s keening, covering her mouth to muffle the sound, tears spilling hot down her face. Clive retrieves the cup before she manages to dump hot coffee all over herself, and puts a hand beneath her elbow, guiding her to sit on the floor.

“Take it easy,” he murmurs, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Why didn’t anybody help him?” Her voice is high and sharp and wet in her own ears, and she dissolves into broken weeping, curled in the doorway, mortified and furious and heartbroken. Clive disappears into the bathroom across the hall and returns with a box of tissues, pushing one into her hand. She cries until she nearly chokes herself, and when he ducks away a second time, he comes back with a cold, wet washcloth. She presses it to her eyes as she coughs.

“Catch your breath,” Clive says, taking a knee beside her.

She does, after a few moments’ struggle, calming herself.

“You can’t look backwards, Peyton.” His eyes are wide and warm. “You’ll drive yourself crazy. You can’t do anything for that kid back there. It guts you, I know. I get it. But you can’t change what already happened.”

Her breath comes sharp, and she bites her lip.

“What you _can_ do is exactly what you’re doing,” Clive says. “You can help him here. Now. You do that by looking forward. Changing what you can change. And I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Just…sometimes it helps to hear it from somebody else.”

Peyton nods, her heartbeat fading from her ears, the knot in her chest giving way. “It does. Thanks, Clive.” She takes a deep, slow breath, holds it, lets it out as she counts. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it on you.”

“You didn’t.” He stands up and steps back as she gets to her feet, giving her space. “This is bad business. It hurts. Pisses you off.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for how it hits you.”

Peyton brushes at her cheeks one last time, glancing towards the stairs; her meltdown doesn’t appear to have drawn any additional attention, thank God, and when she looks in on Blaine again, he’s still out. “He needs to eat again,” she says. The bruising and swelling on his face have receded since he ate at the Scratching Post, and she thinks he’ll probably be able to open both eyes now, but she wants to make sure the healing doesn’t lose momentum – which will mean waking him. She hates the thought of pulling him out of sleep, but the sooner he eats, the better.

“Can I go getcha…” Clive jabs a thumb over his shoulder and makes a face, and Peyton gives him a tired grin. “You can work on waking up Sleeping Beauty in there.”

“That would be great, thanks.” As Clive jogs down the stairs, she crosses to the bed, settling carefully on the edge, and runs her hand through Blaine’s hair. “Blaine? Can you hear me?” She strokes her thumb over his cheek. “I need you to wake up.”

A frown forms between his brows, and his breathing quickens.

“It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s just me. Everything’s okay. Open your eyes for me.”

It takes some time and coaxing, but finally Blaine’s eyes flutter open, focusing on her from beneath heavy lids.

“There you go,” she says softly, smiling in spite of herself at the sight of him in daylight. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been terrified she’d never have that again. He peers up at her, blinking.

“Whass wrong?” he mumbles.

“Nothing’s wrong. We’re safe, I promise.”

He shakes his head where it rests. “S’mething’s wrong. You b’n crying.” He reaches up to touch her cheek.

How he can tell that when she suspects he’s still seeing two of her she has no idea, and she’s too caught off guard to deny it. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s just…been a rough couple of days.” She takes his hand. “I’m just grateful to have you back.”

He squeezes her hand in return, and looks around slowly. “Where are we?”

“A safe house Clive found for us. We got here early this morning.”

He blinks sluggishly, remembering. “It was raining.”

“It was.”

 “You stayed.”

 “Of course I did.”

His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and she recognizes the look by now, sees it for what it is. In her office, when she’d laughed with him over piles of notes on Stacey Boss and take-out food…in her apartment, when she’d made her desires clear. It makes her want to wrap herself around him and rock him until he understands. She ghosts her fingertips over a fading bruise on his jaw.

“Blaine, I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at her, dumbstruck, and too hurt and tired to hide it. Then there’s a light knock on the door behind her, and Blaine nearly jumps out of his skin, the movement wrenching a small, sharp sound of pain from him. His eyes are huge with fear, blue giving way to red and silver.

“Hey, easy.” She clasps his hand between both of hers. “Calm down. It’s just Clive. He’s here to help.”

Clive holds up two Filmore-Graves packets. “Just delivering breakfast, man.” He starts to walk over to them, and Blaine flinches back. Clive stops in his tracks, and Peyton runs a hand down Blaine’s arm before getting up to take the packets.

“Thanks,” she says, worried gaze flickering back to the man in the bed.

 “You okay in here?” Clive asks quietly.

“Yeah. We’ll be fine. He’s all right with me. But I don’t think he’s…comfortable with a lot of people in his space right now.”

Clive nods. “Can’t say I blame him. All right. I’m gonna leave you to it. Shout if you need anything. And I’ll send Liv up when she and Major get back – they made a trip to your place for some things.”

He steps out, drawing the door gently shut behind him, and Peyton goes back to Blaine. She sets one packet aside and tears open the other. His eyes go to it, and he grimaces, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. “Just eat as much as you can,” Peyton urges, pressing the packet into his hand; at this rate, he might be asking for regular brains by dinnertime. “Even if it’s just a few bites. It’ll help.”

“S’like sucking wet cardboard.” Weak as it comes out, it’s so _scathing_ she has to smile.

“I’m glad you’re coherent enough to bitch about the hospital food,” she says, sifting fingers through the disheveled shock of platinum hair on his forehead. She hesitates a moment, then strokes her thumb lightly over his eyebrow, on the bruised side of his face. “Can you see out of both eyes now?”

He swallows the bite he’s just taken and nods minutely. “S’blurry.”

“I’m not surprised. Do you have a headache?”

“Yeah.”

“Feel sick at all?”

“No, ‘m’okay.”

She weighs her next words carefully, not sure if they’re what Blaine needs to hear right now or not. “You don’t have to be, you know. Okay. Not with me. And not with anyone else here, either. Nobody expects that of you after…all of this.”

He doesn’t respond to that, and she isn’t surprised. She sits with him quietly while he eats, taking the empty packet from him when he finishes. “More?”

Blaine shakes his head and shifts against the pillows, going briefly rigid with pain, then wilting, his face drawn and anguished. Whatever relief he’d been able to find in sleep and a soft bed is failing him now that he’s regaining his awareness.

Peyton catches his hand between hers and feels the tremor in the muscles. “Where do you hurt, Blaine?”

He twists weakly. “Everywhere,” he whimpers.

 _Angus on fire. Angus with a bullet between the eyes. “_ Okay. Just stay as still you can, all right? I’m going to go get Ravi.”

***

Ravi’s satisfied the concussion’s healing, and produces a dose of ibuprofen that Peyton finds mildly alarming. “It’s safe for him to have this much?” she asks as she takes the handful of pills from him.

Ravi chuckles, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “Impressive, isn’t it? It’s safe – it’s the equivalent of a prescription dose for you or me.” Then the smile fades as he looks Blaine over. “I’d give him something stronger if I had it – Vicodin or morphine – but we didn’t even imagine…” He looks distraught.

“None of us did,” Peyton says gently.

“Yeah.”

Blaine is staring into space through heavy-lidded eyes, and Peyton draws his focus back to her, quelling her worry at needing to do so. He takes the bottle of water Ravi offers him without looking at him, and swallows the pills Peyton passes him two at a time until they’re gone. “They’ll help you sleep, too,” Ravi tells him, and Blaine’s eyes flicker up briefly before darting away.

“Thanks.” It’s as quiet as it can be and still be heard. He lets Peyton take the water out of his hand, and turns tired blue eyes on her when she kisses his knuckles.

“I’m going to take a look at how your legs and ribs are doing, if that’s all right,” Ravi ventures, and waits for Blaine to nod before reaching for the covers. He’s silent for a long moment as he examines Blaine’s legs, gloved hands light over what had been compound fractures the night before. “Well, that’s an improvement,” he notes, voice mildly surprised. “I won’t want you standing yet, but we might be able to take the splints off tomorrow.”

He seems less enthused with what he finds when he examines Blaine’s ribs, though he’s quick to reassure Blaine and Peyton that it _is_ healing. “You had more trauma to soft tissue in here. The bones are healing faster than the rest. It’s getting there. The incision’s already healed over.”

Peyton takes a deep breath, sidestepping the memory of Liv’s fingers inside Blaine’s chest, moving his ribs back where they needed to be, and Ravi cuts his report short. Blaine studies her face, and squeezes her hand.

Ravi hesitates before he speaks again. “Blaine...I’d like to take a look at your back.”

Something flickers over Blaine’s face almost too fast to follow, there and then gone, and Peyton wants, desperately, to make everything that’s happened, everything that’s happening now, just _stop_ , but instead she takes Blaine in her arms and helps Ravi move him, adjusting pillows and shifting weight until he can get to the layers of gauze and what’s beneath them.

What’s beneath them is as horrifying today as it was last night.

Ravi lifts tape and turns back gauze with gentle, steady fingers, and Peyton sees his face tighten as she watches him over Blaine’s head. She makes herself look, heart lurching.

Blaine’s back is a mass of vicious stripes laid one upon another upon another, bleeding together into raw, brutal snarls of wounds. He’s bled above and below the skin, at least where there’s skin remaining, and between the lines and tangles of raw flesh are patches of bruising in colors that turn her stomach.

“What did he do to you?” she hears herself gasp out, and she hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but as soon as she’s said it she wants to know, because Blaine shouldn’t have to carry whatever horror caused this alone, and because she is going to put Angus in the fucking ground and hasn’t made up her mind how many pieces she’s going to do it in.

“Used his belt,” Blaine’s voice is hoarse with exhaustion and utterly flat. “Same as he used to…only now his arm doesn’t get tired.” He doesn’t even try to lift his head from where it rests against her.

She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t think there are any words that could come in response to that and not be absurd. Ravi turns away, briefly, pulling a glove off and running a hand over his mouth. “Blaine,” she whispers, curling over him, resting her forehead on top of his head.

Ravi stands suddenly, taking his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling Liv. He needs more than ibuprofen.”

Peyton strokes a soothing hand over any unbroken skin she can reach: Blaine’s thigh, his arm, his hand, the nape of his neck. She hears Ravi speaking softly and urgently when Liv picks up, giving her details, telling her what he needs her to bring. “I’m sorry, Blaine,” she murmurs. “He’s going to pay for this. I promise.”

A dry, awful sound she can barely identify as a laugh escapes him. “He never does.”

She kisses the top of his head, drives away the urge to curl her fingers into a fist by finding Blaine’s hand and holding it like it’s going to break. “He never had me coming for him.”

***

Blaine is drowsing restlessly where Peyton and Ravi have turned him carefully on his side when Liv knocks quietly on the bedroom door. She holds a long, thin box out to Ravi. “Lidocaine.”

“Thank you, sweetest.” He pulls it open and takes out the tube inside, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from the bedside table and settling himself on the edge of the bed behind Blaine. “Pass me the gauze?”

Peyton sits against the headboard, one hand in Blaine’s hair and the other on his arm. “Blaine, Ravi’s going to put something on your back that’ll help, okay? Just relax; you’re gonna feel better soon.”

The first touch to his back snaps Blaine’s eyes open wide, and he jerks like he’s been shocked, sucking in a rough gasp and grabbing for Peyton’s hand. “Shhhh, baby, shhhh…” she hushes him as he burrows against her.

“Easy,” Ravi steadies him. “This is going to start to numb everything in just a moment.”

Blaine shudders, wrapping an arm around Peyton’s middle and clinging to her. “That’s it; just hold on to me. It’s Ravi; he’s not gonna hurt you.” She’s not even sure it’s pain making him flinch every time Ravi touches his back so much as instinct, something bypassing his awareness of where he is and who’s with him, some aversion to having someone at his back, to being touched at all. “It’s all right.”

Liv stands at Ravi’s side, passing him fresh gauze when he asks for it, her lips pressing into an ever thinner line. “Has he eaten today?” she asks Peyton.

“Yeah. About an hour ago.”

“Real brains, or that crap from Filmore-Graves?” Ravi glances up at her, eyebrow raised, and she makes a face. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. He isn’t going to get better on that garbage; it’s not the same.”

“Liv, one battle at a time, huh?” Peyton says gently over Blaine’s head, smiling in spite of herself at Liv’s ire. “He’s eating and keeping it down.  Ravi says his legs are already healing well.”

“Well this sure as hell isn’t!” She manages to say it both very quietly and very indignantly.

“This was re-inflicted,” Ravi tells her, eyes on his work. “Probably several times.” There’s a current of anger in his voice, but his hands stay steady and careful, putting only as much pressure on the wounds as they need to.

“Re-inflicted,” Liv echoes. She turns horrified eyes to Peyton, a question in them.

“Later,” Peyton says quietly, and Liv nods.

Blaine makes a small noise, and she feels the arm around her loosen, just a bit. The tremors moving through him seem to lessen, something in him uncoiling. His head sinks down onto the pillow. “That’s it,” Peyton murmurs. “That feels better, doesn’t it?” He fumbles for her hand, and she laces her fingers through his. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Just let yourself sleep, Blaine. I’ll be here.”

He’s out well before Ravi is done tending his back.

“We can do this again this evening,” Ravi tells Peyton, drawing the covers over Blaine, “I suspect he’ll need it. Probably for a couple days.”

“Ravi, those injuries look like they haven’t healed at all,” Liv presses, frowning.

“No, they have. There were spots where it went down to the muscle last night. It’s gotten better.”

“Did you find out what caused them?”

“Yes.” Peyton combs her fingers through Blaine’s hair, watching his face, slack in sleep. “Yes, we did.”

***

“Here. Eat.” The plate Liv plunks down in front of Peyton is loaded with bacon, apple slices, and an English muffin doused with honey and cinnamon. “You’re running on empty.”

For all her tension, Peyton realizes she’s starving. She pounces on the plate, muttering “Thanks” around a mouthful of bacon.

“Chew it. Richard Attenborough isn’t narrating your feeding habits.” Liv replies, sprinkling sriracha on her own English muffin. “I brought you clothes from home. Comfy stuff, some pajamas. And we, uh, grabbed some things for Blaine. For once he’s up and around.”

She hadn’t realized how empty her stomach felt until she put something in it. “Thank you. Ravi doesn’t want him out of bed for at least a couple more days.” She shakes her head, staring out the window. “I didn’t think it was possible to hurt a zombie like he was hurt.”

“He was already weak when he was injured,” Liv replies, quietly. “That’s why it got so bad. Once we can get him to eat some real food, he should start to heal a lot faster.”

“I know. I just don’t know how hard to push.”

“I don’t think you need to push at all right now. I know I got kinda…well, pushy ballet mom, frankly – but you were right. He’s eating. He’s stable enough for us to manage his pain and keep him comfortable. He’s more aware now—that’s an improvement. Eventually he’ll get his appetite back.”

Peyton feels a rush of warmth spread through her for the other woman, for the concern nobody would blame her for being unable to muster. “I love you. You know that, right?” she mumbles past a bite of apple.

Liv smiles crookedly. “Tell me again when your mouth’s not full of food. You look like a freakin’ horse.”

Peyton laughs. Tiredly, probably a little hysterically – but it feels good.

***

At Liv’s urging, she takes a hot shower after breakfast, not lingering too long in the spray and steam, but long enough. The tension in her neck and shoulders loosens, and she feels warmed to her core.

By the time she’s done drying her hair she realizes she’s sleepy, the lack of rest from last night catching up to her. Dressed in soft lounge pants and a well-worn T-shirt, she makes her way back down the hall to the bedroom, where Blaine is still out and Liv is seated in the bedside chair where Peyton left her, Ravi cross-legged on the floor beside her.

She supposes the thought of Liv and Ravi sitting watch over Blaine should be awkward, but instead it’s reassuring. She doesn’t question that; she’ll take what comfort she can get right now.

“Not a peep,” Ravi informs her quietly as she leans over Blaine. “He’s getting some real rest now.”

Peyton sighs, relieved and exhausted, and Liv gets to her feet. “Come on. You need to sleep, Peyton.” Liv meets her as she rounds the bed and takes her arm, ushering her to the unoccupied side. “I brought you some real pillows.”

“Tucking me in?” Peyton asks, amused, but also touched.

“Shut up. Lie down,” Liv shoots back, but her eyes are twinkling.

Peyton slips under the covers and into the cool pillows with a sigh. Despite the daylight in the room, she can feel sleep tugging her down already. Blaine is still beside her, his breathing soft and steady, and there’s no trace of pain to be found in his face. It’s as much of a comfort as Liv’s mothering.

“Wake me up for dinner,” she mumbles, and hears Liv laugh softly as she and Ravi slip out.


End file.
